


A Dance to the Music of Time

by Mevennen (Altariel)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, content warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29175924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Altariel/pseuds/Mevennen
Summary: On Bajor, during the Occupation, Elim Garak meets a traveller in time and the love of his life.This story was written in the 90s by mevennen, and is being hosted, with permission, by Altariel.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 17
Kudos: 55





	A Dance to the Music of Time

**A Dance to the Music of Time**

Things are never what they seem  
Play a part most of the time  
What is yours can not be mine  
And I'm bored by dreams...

Take me through the steps, my love,  
Shall we dance again  
I was always older then  
Now we are the same...lasse des reves

Reves qui brilliant dans le noir  
Ira bien tu peur le croire  
Toujours dira la verite  
Quand je suis lasse des reves

Take me through the steps, my love,  
Shall we dance again  
Things were always brighter then  
Hear me call your name...

(Marianne Faithfull/Angelo Badalamenti, _A Secret Life_ )

* * *

1.

Agent Garak watched with wry amusement as the Glinn crossed to the window and stood gazing out across the valley. Glinn Dukat's shoulders rippled with irritation.

'Looking at it won't make it stop,' Garak said.

'It's been raining for nearly three weeks. I tell you, Garak, if the Fifth don't show up soon, I'm going to talk to Terekat about pulling out and going home.'

'And how do you propose to get back to Cardassia? Walk?' the agent snapped.

'This is intolerable.' Dukat's palm smacked against the carved frame of the window. 'I should never have requested this posting. I loathe Bajor. I despise the Bajorans.'

Beside Garak, the Glinn's paramour du jour sat up in involuntary alarm.

'Don't worry,' Garak murmured soothingly into the Bajoran girl's ear. 'He doesn't mean you, my dear.' In the dim light, her eyes were wide and terrified. 'Hush, now.' Garak said to her, adding in the direction of Dukat 'I realise you're frustrated, but please don't take it out on the rest of us.'

Dukat shot him a look of hatred.

'I wouldn't put it past you to be enjoying this.'

'When confronted with inexorable circumstance, one must bow to necessity,' the agent intoned. 'Kindly pass me that syringe.'

* * *

2.

It was strange out there, alone in the darkness with the stars cascading by. Bashir watched the lights flickering across the instrument panel and leaned back in his seat. It was a long time since he'd really had the chance to think. He watched the blue arc of Bajor swing up as the runabout turned. It was good to get away from the station for a few days, even on such a routine mission as the ceremonial opening of the Recantha University medical archives. Kira had told him that Recantha was one of the more intriguing provinces: high and mountainous, with ancient fortresses built along the border wall. It would be interesting to see a little history, Bashir thought.

The schematic was unscrolling across the console in a burst of lights. Bashir, his attention suddenly caught, engaged the system.

 _Warning_ , the calm voice of the computer said. _There is an anomaly, opening 12 oh five oh one_.

\- but before he realised what was happening, a point of azure light expanded at blinding speed across the viewscreen and a crack opened between the worlds, and the runabout was through and falling as it closed.

* * *

3.

It was still raining. After the fifteenth game of kotra with Glinn Okara, a moody man who spoke on average once every three hours, Garak went for a walk on the battlements. The monastery was set on a spine of rock, accessible only by aircar or the more primitive method of a cage on a rope. At the highest point of the monastery battlements, one could see all the way to Sherastra Peak; at least on a clear day. Garak had not seen Sherastra Peak for a month. Mist was boiling up from the cauldron floor of the valley. Water ran down Garak's ridged nose and slunk inside his collar. Sighing, the agent fished inside his breast pocket for the phial of lethiope. Time for another little medicinal dose.

* * *

4.

Bashir blinked. There was Bajor, lying serenely below. The runabout was once more descending, on course. What happened? Bashir thought. Was that just a blip, or what? With an unpleasant sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, he peered at the timer. *Ah. Lost a few minutes, there* he realised. *And twenty four years.* Somewhere in this universe, he was nine. The runabout, oblivious to his plight, was taking him down through the clouds to an occupied Bajor.

* * *

5.

'I want to talk to you,' Agent Garak hissed. A cold blue eye opened, gazed up him unamiably for a moment, then closed. Undeterred, Garak shook the Glinn by the shoulder.

' _What?_ ' Dukat sat up, dislodging the girl.

'I've just had a relay message from Central Command. The Fifth's been delayed.'

'Delayed?' Dukat gaped at him. 'I know you've got a malevolent sense of humour, Garak, but-'

The agent took a deep breath.

'I'm not joking. It'll be another month.'

' _A MONTH_?'

'I'm afraid so. And please don't shout; I'm feeling a little fragile this morning.'

Dukat stared at him, noting the agent's damp aspect for the first time.

'Let me guess. It's still raining.'

Garak did not bother to reply. Ignoring Dukat and the Bajoran, he sat down heavily on the end of the bed and began rolling up his sleeve. Dukat watched him with disgust.

'Can't you do that in private?'

'Why? It's hardly the most -' Garak broke off to pull the band tighter with his teeth. The tourniquet raised the river landscape of his veins into prominence, so that they lay silver against the skin. The tip of the hypo slid easily in.

'Garak...' The Glinn said, in unwilling fascination.

'Oh.' Garak's head arched back with pleasure. 'Oh, that's better.'

Seen through the roseate haze of the lethiope, Dukat looked almost amiable, he thought. He beamed at the Bajoran, who smiled tentatively back.

'Leave her alone,' Dukat said, alarmed. 'I don't want you corrupting her with your depraved practices.'

'Mmm, no; wouldn't want to do that...'

'What about Glinn Ramok? I thought you and he had an understanding?'

'We did, until last night. Minor disagreement. Personal matter.' A speculative gleam entered the agent's eye. 'Think I'll go and talk to Glinn Dekar. Charming young man.'

'Garak! He's the fourth person you've had an - arrangement - with since we were stranded here. And there are only fifteen of us!'

'Don't worry,' the agent murmured. He leaned over and brushed the startled Glinn's mouth with his own. 'I'll make quite sure you're last.'

Then, before Dukat could respond, he was gone in the direction of the guard's quarters.

* * *

5.

The rain was soft against Bashir's skin as he stepped from the runabout. Water dripped from the coiled fronds of fern and the ebony spines of aruidh. The air smelled of wet earth and rotting foliage. Bashir looked uneasily up into the sky. Banners of cloud streamed across the heavens, carried on the rising storm. As he watched, the sky darkened and a bolt of lightening cracked silver-white through the rain. *Why couldn't it be summer?* Bashir wondered, bitterly. Returning to the runabout, he decided to wait in the dry until the rain had eased off.

* * *

6.

Garak lay back with a sigh as the lethiope slid through his veins. This latest batch was the best yet, he thought. Once the dose had worn off, he intended to make a few minor adjustments to the psychotropic matrix, a couple of enhancements here and there, and he should have the perfect combination. He blinked, gazing up at the panelled ceiling. The carvings seemed to move and glide: fanciful Bajoran beasts curving across the walls. His thoughts drifted back to his pharmaceutical experiments. The only trouble with the lethiope was that one had to inject it; it did not respond well to use in a hypospray. This was time consuming and clumsy, as well as painful. How much better it would be, Garak thought, to have a stimulant implanted directly into the cerebral cortex, to be activated at will. An interesting premise. He'd have to look into that, once they got back and had access to the proper equipment.

Beside him, Aven Dekar stirred in his sleep. Garak ran a caressing hand up the young man's spinal ridge, languidly entwining his fingers in Aven's dark hair. Aven sighed. Lethiope, Garak decided, was not the ideal addition to sexual intimacy. It made you lose your concentration; on a couple of occasions, he'd forgotten what he was doing and drifted off, causing aggrieved complaints from Dekar. But release, when it came, was exquisite and at least lethiope had the advantage of lessening the ennui of being here. The monastery was cold and damp, with uncomfortable, unsightly furniture. The weather was dreadful, and the Bajorans were tedious, although Garak had to admit that they performed their allotted tasks admirably, once a few necessary examples had been made. He did not agree with Gul Mokaram that the Bajorans were incapable of performing basic work; it was simply a matter of training. No, he had no complaints about the servants; merely about the situation. Everyone was suffering from boredom.

A diversion was needed.

* * *

7.

Gul Vetor shook raindrops from the scanner and turned to his companion.

'It's a Federation craft. Very sophisticated, though. I didn't think they had anything quite up to this standard.'

Glinn Markal's scales bristled with indignation.

'Federation? how did it get through our defences?' he demanded.

'I've no idea.' Vetor squinted into the lowering Bajoran sky. 'Someone's not doing their job.'

'Still,' Markal remarked, brightening up. 'Central Command will be pleased, when we return with the Federation spies.'

'And it'll be something to do,' Vetor agreed. Motioning to his colleague, he crossed rapidly to the undergrowth at the rear of the little craft and fired a disabling shot into the panel concealing the sensor array. There was a thin whine as the runabout powered down, then the door slid open. A phaser bolt whipped past Markal's ear, sending a column of steam into the rainy air. Vetor's spirits rose. It seemed that they were in for a degree of amusement after all.

A short while later, Vetor and Markal dragged the dishevelled, protesting human into the monastery keep.

'Get me Gul Terekat,' Vetor snapped to the duty guard. As an afterthought, he added 'and Agent Garak.'

The human's head turned.

'Garak?' the young man repeated, blankly. Markal hit him across the face and the human's knees buckled.

'Agent Garak, to you.' He hauled the young man to his feet. 'Take him to the dungeons.'

* * *

8.

'Sir?'

'What?' Garak murmured. Glinn Shavan's voice seemed to be coming from the bottom of a well.

'Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you, but the men have taken a prisoner. A Federation agent.'

Somewhere in the depths of Garak's dreaming mind, a spark of interest flickered into life.

'Federation?'

'Yes - he landed down in the forest. Obviously hoping to contact the Resistance.'

'Hmm. Very well. I suppose I'd better arrange an interrogation. There's no immediate rush, is there? Shall I leave it until after dinner? We might as well give everyone an evening's entertainment, after all.'

'I'm sure that would be appreciated, Sir.'

'Keep an eye on him - make sure he doesn't escape, or anything flamboyant like that, and when I'm feeling a little more myself I'll go down and have a chat to him.'

* * *

9.

Angrily, Bashir paced the cell. The dungeon, in the tradition of dungeons everywhere, was chilly, moist and verminous. A narrow, slitted window opened out onto an oblong of storm-driven sky, allowing arctic draughts to enter. His captors had not bothered to feed him; moreover, they had removed his sodden uniform tunic and his boots. The stone floor was icy beneath his sock feet, but sitting down on the narrow iron bed was even more uncomfortable. The only ray of hope had been the mention of Garak, but that was hardly encouraging once he'd thought it through. What was he going to say to Garak when the latter showed up, even assuming it was the same person? * You don't know me, agent Garak, but nearly a quarter of a century into the future you and I are close friends - we have lunch together and talk about Art.* Well, that was going to go down like a lead balloon with a young, keen member of the Obsidian Order. It was unlikely that he could prove his origins and anyway, there were those humourless goons in Temporal Investigations to consider. The timeline, and all that.

He looked up from his musings to find Garak standing in front of him.

* * *

10.

'Right,' Shavan said. 'The interrogation's due to begin in twenty minutes, and I expect you all to show your appreciation of Agent Garak in letting us watch. Anyone who's interested, follow me downstairs.'

The garrison rose in happy anticipation, and made their way towards the dungeons.

* * *

11.

Bashir stared. He'd often wondered what Garak must have looked like at his own age, and now he knew. In fact, it appeared, Garak hadn't changed all that much. The pale blue eyes were the same, and so was the amiable, smiling face. The Cardassian was a little sharper around the jaw and the waistline, and his clothes were different: the black and silver tunic of the Order and the long leather coat beloved of fascists everywhere, but otherwise he was unaltered. Irrationally, Bashir felt himself grow weak with relief. There was a familiar expression of interest in Garak's blue eyes.

'Well,' the Cardassian said, softly. He reached out and took Bashir's chin in his hand, turning the young man's face towards the stormy light. 'A Federation agent. How novel. It's always a delight to welcome one's colleagues, even if they are on different sides to oneself...' His thumb brushed Bashir's jaw in a curiously possessive gesture. Bashir saw him bite his lip. 'Anyway, business before pleasure,' the agent added, obscurely. 'Come and meet the troops.'

Taking Bashir gently by the elbow, he led him from the cell.

* * *

12.

There were not enough chairs, causing a stampede for the front row, and Glinn Ramorek and Vetor had to stand.

'I can't see!' came a plaintive voice from the back. 'Dukat, get your head out of the way!'

Muttering, Glinn Dukat shuffled lower in his seat.

'What's Garak doing?' someone grumbled. 'Oh, there you are, Agent.'

'Gentlemen...' Garak greeted them. 'There's someone I'd like to introduce to you...'

* * *

13.

Even in the wan illumination from the window, Bashir could see that their eyes were very bright, filled with cold curiosity, and his heart sank. He turned to his single illusory source of comfort.

'Garak...' he said. The agent moved so fast that Bashir did not even realise what had happened, knowing only that he was on his knees on the floor, with pain ripping through him. There was an appreciative murmur from the audience. The pain was so fierce that Bashir forgot his training. 'Whatever you want to know...' he whispered. 'I'll tell you anything...'

He was lifted up. Garak's face was inches from his own. The Cardassian's breath was warm against his cheek.

'Now you listen to me,' Garak's voice said silkily into his ear. 'It doesn't matter, do you understand? Whatever you do, the result will be the same. We're here to put on a show.'

\- and then there was no more time for thought, as fire sang along his nerves and the Cardassians leaned avidly forward.

* * *

14.

When he came to, he was back in the cell and Garak was sitting at the end of the narrow bed. Bashir moved backwards so fast that his head banged against the wall and he fell back, mildly stunned.

'Now that that's over,' the Cardassian said, quite pleasantly. 'We can have a proper conversation. I hope you won't hold this evening's entertainment against me, but it really has been indescribably tedious here, and we've all been desperate for some light relief...Now. Who are you, and why are you here?'

Exhausted and dazed, Bashir told him the plain and simple truth.

* * *

15.

Later, Garak leaned back against the wall of the ramparts and gazed out across the valley. He had found the time to plunder the medkit that Vetor and Markal had retrieved from the Federation ship, and it had yielded a pleasing array of sedatives and stimulants. The warmth of a neuromorphine enhancer glowed inside him, filtering out the damp and the cold, and generating a pleasant, heavy sensation in his groin. He thought of Aven Dekar, and smiled, before remembering that Aven had last been seen heading in the direction of Dukat's quarters. Doubtless some pecuniary incentive had been offered, Garak thought sourly. Dekar had not been the first of his lovers to be lured away by Dukat; really the man was quite neurotic. Jealous, of course. *Can't bear to see me succeed*, Garak thought. They'd been rivals for years. Aven would be back, but in the meantime, Garak was without company for the night.

He glanced up and for a moment the clouds tore away and Sherastra Peak rose out of the darkness; as remote and enchanting as the promise of a different life. *Is this all there is, Elim? Blood and chaos and death, and the grind of duty and ambition? Love affairs that lead nowhere, and the petty conflicts and rivalries of the Order? And then there's Tain...* He thought back to what the young human had told him. An odd, intriguing story, but not precisely comforting, especially when considered in the light of his present position. He wondered whether it was true. * A different life...maybe it still isn't too late*. That was the trouble with drugs, Garak reflected. They did their work too well, relaxed you too much, so that you lowered your guard without even realising it and before you knew it the unruly thoughts were through and free. *I don't want to think about this...* Did Dukat have such notions, alone after midnight and a long way from Cardassia? Suddenly, all Garak wanted was to be home: to wake up to the heat with the city lying below in the morning sun and someone who loved him by his side. He did not even know if the longing was real, or just a product of the drug. He looked up at Sherastra Peak, but the mountain had gone and in its place there was only the rain.

* * *

16.

Bashir dreamed that he was lying in his own quarters, back in his own time, but the Garak who knelt above him was not the disgraced exile, but young again. He reached up and ran his hand down the Cardassian's sleek flank, where scales met soft skin, and Garak gasped. His past torturer; his present friend, Bashir thought hazily, but in the dream it made no sense at all. Abruptly, he sat up, grasped Garak by the shoulders and forced the unprotesting Cardassian down onto the bed. He kissed Garak, and the Cardassian responded lazily, then somehow they were inside one another, Garak stirring beneath him, abandoned. Bashir opened his eyes and saw his own face above him, then he was back in his own body, drifting with the logic of dreams. The Cardassian's body was supple and hot beneath his own; holding him close as they undulated within each other. Bashir heard himself crying out: so close to the edge now - and then he woke up.

He was no longer in the cell, but found himself staring up at a panelled, carved ceiling, veiled in a drift of smoke from a nearby candle. His body was tense with the ebb of unfulfilled orgasm.

'Well?' said an amused voice into his ear. 'Do you like that, hmmm?'

Bashir reached out and encountered the same smooth skin of his dream.

'It's you,' he said, surprised.

'Of course it is,' the Cardassian said. Garak's mouth came down on his own for a lingering moment, then the room seemed to drift in and out of focus. There was a sweet, half-familiar taste in his mouth.

'You've given me something,' Bashir said. His voice sounded very faint and far away.

'Of course I have...'

He felt Garak's warm mouth trail down his throat, then the Cardassian sat up.

'Now...' Garak said, and through the haze of the drug Bashir could hear the urgency in his voice. 'There's something I want you to do. And then I'll give you whatever you want; don't worry, I'm a generous lover...'

He knelt upright, bracing himself against the wall and cupping one hand at the back of the young man's head.

'There now. Take me in your mouth....'

Obediently, Bashir complied and the Cardassian cried out, moving his hips with increasing abandon until the swift, strong climax. Reflexively, Bashir swallowed. The Cardassian withdrew, sliding down the bed to take the young man in his arms.

'Oh. Thank you. You're very talented, you know.'

'Never done it before,' Bashir mumbled. There was a soft laugh in his ear.

'Beginner's luck, then. Now, let me return the favour...' and Garak was moving down, licking and kissing aching flesh. He was, Bashir soon discovered, not untalented himself.

* * *

17.

Garak, stepping out into the corridor, collided with Glinn Dukat.

'I'm sorry to have to tell you this,' the Glinn said sweetly, and with a resounding lack of apology, 'but your prisoner seems to have escaped.' In the darkness of the corridor his eyes glittered with malice. 'Evidently, your interrogation techniques aren't quite as disabling as one might hope.'

'I'm afraid I must disappoint you,' the agent said, with equal hauteur 'But our Federation guest is with me. I had him brought up from his cell last night.'

'What?' Dukat said blankly. Before Garak could stop him, he edged past Garak and looked through the bedroom door. 'Garak!'

'Yes?'

'That's disgraceful.'

'Pardon me? Coming from a man who appears to have made it his mission to sleep with the entire Bajoran population, I find that a little hypocritical.'

Dukat ruffled his throat scales.

'That's different. The Bajorans are our subjects; it's a privilege. But he's the enemy. Or hadn't you noticed, in your currently addled state? Turn him over to the garrison. Let them amuse themselves until the Fifth arrive.'

Until now, Garak had been indifferent to the captive's wellbeing, apart from a degree of sexual etiquette, but he found that he was host to an odd, displaced sense of protectiveness towards the young human.

'No,' he said. 'No, I'm not going to do that.'

'And why not, might I ask?'

'Because he's going to be useful,' Garak said. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a report to write.'

Going back into the room, he found Bashir sitting up in bed and staring at him apprehensively. The monitor around his wrist winked with a bead of green light; Garak refused to apply shackles. If Bashir tried to escape, the monitor would alert him via his own communicator. There was, of course, always the possibility that Bashir might try to overpower him, but an instinct that he did not fully understand told him that the young man would not try to do this. It was odd, Garak thought. It was as though they had known each other for a long time. Perhaps this was a result of Bashir's familiar manner with him, that put him so much at ease. He smiled at the human.

'Don't worry,' Garak told him. 'Nothing's going to happen to you just yet.'

Bashir did not reply. A thin wraith of cold air made its way around the window frame and into the room; Garak shivered.

'Excuse me,' he said. He reached for the enhancer and began his preparations.

'What are you doing?' Bashir asked.

'Availing myself of the facilities.'

'Is that neuromorphine?'

'It is, yes.'

'You ought to be careful with that stuff, you know. It's addictive.'

'It's very kind of you to be so concerned with my welfare,' the agent said, finding to his surprise that he meant it, 'but I can handle it. I don't have an addictive personality.'

The young human was looking at him oddly. Garak drew breath as the enhancer's magical properties drew discomfort back beyond the barrier.

'There...'

'Oh, Garak...'

The captive sounded almost exasperated, Garak thought, and though he knew how foolish it was, he let Bashir draw him down to lie, compliant, with his head on the young man's shoulder.

* * *

18.

Back in the future, the Commander of DS9 once again found himself entertaining the department of temporal investigations.

'This is very bad,' Agent Bachshuk said, shaking his head. Agent Morrison mournfully agreed.

'And it's not as if it's the first time.'

'You seem to be implying that this is somehow my fault. Gentlemen, we're talking about a natural phenomenon here.' Sisko protested.

'There's no question about that. But it's what you do with it that matters. Who knows what your man might be doing, or where he is?'

'Well, we know where he is. He's on Bajor, approximately twenty four years ago. We picked up the tachyonic signal traces from the runabout when it disappeared. And the Bajorans seem confident that they can get him back, via the Orb, so I really don't feel that this is quite the disaster that you're suggesting.'

Bachshuk gave him a look that verged on contempt.

'It's never that simple.'

* * *

19.

Agent Garak had made it abundantly clear that the captive was off limits, so the garrison found themselves obliged to seek other diversions. Necessity, as usual, bred invention. On the following evening, Garak came upstairs to find Bashir lying with his ear pressed to the floorboards.

'What are they doing down there?' Bashir asked.

'Oh, Gul Morennek suggested a party.'

The young human turned a worried face up from the floor. 'It doesn't sound like much fun for someone.'

'Ah. Well, we discovered a little pocket of terrorists up in the mountains, so we've retrieved them and brought them down here...' He looked vaguely distasteful for a moment. 'Not really my sort of thing, so I thought I'd have an early night.'

'What are you planning for me?' Bashir asked.

'Let's talk about that when we have a rather more concrete idea of Central Command's feelings, shall we?'

The agent's voice grew momentarily muffled as he stepped onto a small adjoining chamber to reappear clad in a voluminous dressing gown. He came over to sit beside Bashir on the bed and regarded him indulgently.

'So. According to you, we know each other in the future...'

'Yes.'

'And are we close friends?'

'Reasonably close, yes.'

'But not lovers?'

'No.'

'How remiss of my future self. I must have changed,' Garak said, whimsically. He placed a hand over Bashir's. 'Do you want to be my lover in the future? Or have I lost my looks altogether?'

Bashir gave him a reluctant smile.

'No, you haven't. You haven't altered much, actually. Not as far as your appearance goes, anyway. As for your character, well -'

'Don't tell me I've found religion.'

'Not as far as I know. It's just that you are rather professionally enigmatic...I've known you for almost seven years and I'm still never quite sure what's going on in your head. I've never really trusted you. I've never been sure how I felt.'

'Doubtless that's part of my charm. And what do I do?'

'You're a tailor.'

'A -? However did that happen?'

'I've no idea. You've never said.'

'Really,' Garak marvelled. 'I must remember not to be quite so reticent in future. One never knows where it will lead. And you say I'm in exile?'

'Yes.'

'But you don't know why.'

'No, you've never talked about it.'

'I wonder if I infuriate myself as much as I do other people? Ah, well. Tell me, Doctor, does my behaviour towards you in the future suggest that we might have had some sort of understanding - well, now?'

'I don't know. It would explain a certain amount, though. Garak, why are you so interested in me?'

The agent considered for a moment.

'I'm interested in everyone. I don't know. I suppose I'm bored.'

'That's not very romantic!'

'Did someone mention romance? You are a prisoner, you know. I mean, I can do more or less what I like with you.' - and to prove it, he leaned over and kissed Bashir hard on the mouth, taking him down against the bed.

'You're different to how I'd imagined,' Bashir said, a little later.

'How so?' The Cardassian's voice was drowsy.

'You're very sensual. I thought you'd prefer, well, rather more extreme forms of sex.'

'What, chains and whips and so on?'

'Well...I suppose so.'

'I try not to bring my work home with me,' Garak explained. 'If you spend your days causing people pain, you tend to want something a little more civilised in private life. I don't enjoy that sort of thing, you know,' he added, reprovingly. He ran a caressing hand along Bashir's stomach. I have to be very controlled in my work; when I'm making love, I like to let go. You seem to understand that. Most of the men here just want an immediate release. There's not a general appreciation of the psychology of the thing.'

'What about Cardassian women?'

'Cardassian women are so...grudging. I like women, mind you, sexually, but they tend to behave as though they're doing you a favour. They roll their eyes and sigh if you show signs of going on longer than ten minutes.'

'What about Bajorans?'

'Dukat likes to live dangerously. I prefer not to entertain lovers who might slip a knife in my ribs.'

'Like me, for instance?'

Garak rolled against him, nuzzling his throat.

'There's an exception to every rule. But you remind me of the Bajorans, you know. Very attractive. I think it's because you're so delightfully feminine.'

'What?'

'Well, you don't have any masculine ridges, and you're quite slim, and soft, and you have these.' He flicked the nearest nipple with the tip of his tongue. 'Enchanting. Like a girl. The best of both worlds, really.'

Noticing his companion's expression for the first time, he added 'Julian? Was it something I said?'

'Don't worry about it,' Bashir said, through his teeth.

Later, Bashir contemplated his sleeping companion. _It had to be you, didn't it? It couldn't have been some other Cardassian oppressor, someone whose life I hadn't saved, to whom I felt no loyalty? No, it had to be the person I've been in love with for so long...And now I've got you, and it's too late. It's too_ early _._

He had been trying to work out the temporal mechanics, a mind boggling effort that, as usual, left him with a headache. There was, for instance, the question of his younger self, living a blameless existence back on Earth and due to be messed about with by well-meaning parents. Could it affect that child, if he got killed here in the past? People weren't supposed to think about things like this; it wasn't a question of intelligence, but of the right conceptual apparatus, and he just didn't have that. No-one did, except perhaps the Prophets and their kind. He needed to find the runabout; see if any modifications could be made to its communication process. There was a vague idea in the back of his head that the wormhole might be able to act as a trans-temporal carrier, but he wasn't sure what sort of state the wormhole was in, at this point in its history. He was damned, he thought, if he was just going to sit here until he was found, but he didn't see what else he could do. He wasn't even sure whether this was his own history, or some other close probability. If he'd known Garak in the past, why hadn't the latter said anything to him in the future when they met on the station? Now that he thought about it, he could swear that Garak knew: that intimate touch on his shoulder during their first lunch together, and the Cardassian's amused smile. The assumption of familiarity...Garak knew, he was sure of it, but why had Garak kept silent? 

Beside him, the younger version of his thoughts twitched in his sleep like a cat; Garak was dreaming. *You're such a deplorable person,* Bashir thought, ruefully. A murderer and torturer and fascist, a liar and assassin...someone who loved books and wanted to be held while he slept. Someone lonely. It was always the same: just when he'd worked out his attitude to Garak, that unwary love ambushed him all over again. Why couldn't it ever be simple? Helplessly, he stroked the Cardassian's supple spine and Garak smiled as he slid deeper into sleep.

* * *

20.

Agent Garak went downstairs the next morning to find a murmur of anticipation running through the hall. They had located yet more terrorists.

'Good morning, Garak,' Dukat's voice said from behind. Garak turned. Dukat smiled at him; evidently the promise of action had put the Glinn in a good mood. Garak followed him into the courtyard where the transport vehicle was waiting.

'All right,' Dukat said. 'Everyone out.' The Bajorans congregated in a loose huddle. It was still raining.

'Do you want any of these immediately?' Dukat asked.

'Take their names, usual thing, and I'll see everyone later.'

Someone stepped forward from the crowd of Bajorans: a small, dirty child. 'What's going to happen to us?' she demanded.

'You,' Dukat said curtly, 'are going to the labour camp. Won't that be nice?'

The child pushed the rats-tails of red hair from her eyes and gave Dukat a long, considering look.

'I'll remember you,' she said, at last.

'I'm sure you will,' Dukat said. Garak put an impatient hand on his sleeve.

'Let's get in out of the rain. They'll be no use at all if they've all got pneumonia, and neither will I.'

'Get them out of here,' Dukat snapped to the guards, and the Bajorans were led away.

* * *

21.

'What I have to do,' Garak said 'is to contact the Order and tell them we have a problem. I've postponed doing anything about you until now, but we really must determine what they want me to do with you.' He sank lower in the pool and sighed. 'Do I have problems with my back in later life?'

'Yes, why?'

'I think they're starting now.' He gave Bashir a rather arch glance. 'You wouldn't be able to do anything about that, would you?'

'I can try. But it's more likely to be the conditions you're living in.'

'Bajor is such a depressing place...' the Cardassian mused. 'Everything's so green and blurred, and it's so cold. You'd think they'd be grateful that we're trying to improve life for them.'

'That's what you're doing, is it?'

'Once this planet becomes economically viable, everyone's standard of living will benefit. You don't think Cardassia's a paradise, do you? When I was growing up it was a constant struggle to work out where the next meal was coming from...Hand me that towel.'

Having done so, Bashir put his hands on either side of the Cardassian's hips and stood looking at him.

'What?' Garak asked, smiling.

'You don't want me to leave, do you?'

Garak's hands came down to cover his.

'Julian...It isn't a question of what I want. It's what my superiors dictate that I do. If it was up to me...well, perhaps you could come back to Cardassia with me. I think you realise the chances of returning to wherever you came from are a little remote.'

'Do you believe me? That I'm from the future?'

'I've no idea, but it's a good story.'

Garak's gentle, probing fingers were distracting; it was hard to think.

The Cardassian said, 'I suppose I'll have to point you in the direction of temporal investigations and see what they say. I wouldn't worry about it for the time being.' His hand moved lower, and his voice roughened. 'There. That's better, isn't it?'

* * *

22.

A day later, Garak sat at his desk and stared at the console. Interesting. He had now spoken to the Order, and it appeared that some sort of anomaly had indeed taken place. He had not enlightened them as to Bashir's claims; better that they sorted it out when they arrived. *Ah, well*, Garak thought. He'd become fond of the young man, but the interests of the State naturally had to come first and he wasn't going to jeopardise a hitherto promising relationship with the Order over some minor dalliance. He'd taken care to extract all the information he could from Bashir about his own future; unhappily, it seemed that his carefully cultivated mask of deception had not stood him in good stead. Once the Order had finished with Bashir, what then? Would the young human be imprisoned, using up valuable resources? Unlikely. It was more probable that they'd have him killed. But if there was some way, however implausible, that Bashir could be sent back to his own time...*I don't want to end up sewing suits on Terok Nor. I want this life; my real life. The future I should have. If we're here now, and then something happens and we meet years later, why don't I warn him? Why doesn't my future self tell him what happens, so that when he goes back to now, he can tell me what I have to do to avoid exile...*

Garak had an uneasy feeling about this. The logistics of it were too complex, too intertwined; it invoked a paradox and he was never entirely happy with those. His future self had not said anything to Bashir. Clearly, something had gone awry, but what was it? And how was it to be resolved? 

* * *

23.

'You're very attentive tonight,' the young man said, suspiciously.

'Am I?' The Cardassian's arms were wound around Bashir's waist; and the human's head rested on Garak's chest.

'You've been so...focused...on me, for the last three hours. Almost as though you were saying goodbye.'

'Julian....'

'What's going to happen to me tomorrow?'

Garak pulled him closer. 'Nothing's going to happen to you.'

'You're lying. And don't try and distract me by doing _that_ , either.'

'Don't you like that?'

'Yes, but...' Bashir unwound Garak's arm and sat up.

'Just tell me.'

Garak sighed.

'All right. People from the Order are coming. They want to speak to you.'

'And you're going to hand me over?'

'Do I have a choice?'

After a moment, Bashir said, 'No. No, I don't think you do.'

'You understand that? It isn't anything personal, Julian; on the contrary, I'd far rather keep you with me. I've grown quite attached to you, as a matter of fact. But they have enquiries to make and obviously I can't let personal sentiment stand in the way.' He paused, relaxing back onto one arm. 'On the other hand, after I got that call, I started to think. About my career.'

'Oh?' Bashir said, warily.

'Let's suppose that this wild story of yours is true. The evidence seems to bear it out, on cursory examination. At some point, perhaps in seventeen years' time or so, I do something so appalling that I become exiled from the State. But we don't know what it is. This worries me. Don't take it personally, but I don't really want the high point of my declining years to be the occasional lunch with you. Especially since I won't have had the good taste to make you my lover,' he added gallantly.

'Now, you've told me a little about us, but not a whole lot about the general situation, half a century from now. If you're on Terok Nor, then the implication is that we've lost Bajor...Hmmm.'

'I'm not saying anything.'

Garak looked at him. 'I can make you tell me.'

'You can certainly try.' Bashir said, softly. His eyes met Garak's, and slowly the Cardassian nodded.

'It seems I've been a good influence on you...'

He lay back against the pillow, drawing Bashir down with him.

'Let me think about this...'

Bashir waited, but gradually the Cardassian's breathing changed and when Bashir glanced up at him, he saw that Garak was asleep. Extricating himself from his lover's embrace, he crossed to the desk and squinted at the monitor bracelet that encircled his wrist. The design was familiar enough, if a little old fashioned, and he thought he could remove it without too much difficulty. He picked delicately at the casing with a scrap of wire, prising it free, then unlinked it from his wrist and walked over to the bed. Garak lay curled around himself: knees drawn up, arms folded across his stomach. His sharp, ridged chin was tucked into his chest. Even in sleep he was guarded, Bashir thought; hiding secrets, giving nothing away. He stood for a moment, staring down at the Cardassian. *You're playing with fire, Elim Garak...I could kill you now. I won't, but you don't know that. Why are you taking such chances with me?* Garak's sleeping face revealed nothing. Bashir watched for a minute longer, before placing the monitor bracelet on the pillow and making his way out into the corridor.

He wasn't planning to escape, but to locate the CPU of the monastery's communications system. He had a contingent idea of contacting the Federation, and asking for help. He was reasonably sure that this would be granted, but a lot depended on the state of the communications relay. The monastery was dark and silent. Bashir could hear the distant whine of a generator, somewhere deep within the fortress; otherwise, the place was still. He made his way quickly down the stairs, ending up outside the guardroom. There was a flicker of light from within, and a murmur of voices. Against his better judgement, Bashir stopped to listen.

'...becoming a liability. He might be preoccupied with his captured catamite at the moment, but as soon as he takes a look at the communications relay....'

A whispering voice, then:

'Between ourselves and the Order? Not good, at the moment. That's why I want him out of the way before the deal goes through. And there are other considerations...'

Something else Bashir was unable to hear, followed by the same voice:

'I've been speaking to my father, you see. You'll have to arrange something. It shouldn't be difficult.'

Someone shifted position and then Bashir heard:

'What about Tain?'

'What about him? His own tenure's more precarious than it appears. And Garak's not quite the favourite he seems...There are reasons for that. I don't see that there's a problem.'

'Then our only remaining difficulty is when.'

'Within the next twenty eight hours. Before T'Ket gets here.'

'I can leave it with you, can I?'

'Oh, I'd be only too happy to help,' said the first voice, softly, and Bashir recognised him. It was Dukat.

'I'll need access to the main communications interface, in case some zealous soul decides to get a message out.'

'Well, we can see to that now,' Dukat said, briskly.

Belatedly, Bashir realised the danger he was in. He sidled swiftly back up the stairs and returned to the bedroom.

* * *

24.

Slowly, the Cardassian slid back into consciousness. Someone was whispering in his ear.

'Wake up...I need to talk to you.'

Garak opened his eyes to meet Bashir's dark gaze.

'What is it?'

'Dukat. There's some sort of plot. They were talking about you - about how you had to be got out of the way. An accident.'

Garak suddenly found himself wide awake.

'How do you know?'

'I was downstairs...'

Garak seized the young man's wrist; it was monitorless.

'How did you -? Oh, never mind. Tell me exactly what was said and who said it.'

Bashir explained, but the information that he was able to supply was limited. Garak thought rapidly through a list of candidates and was compelled to admit that Dukat could have been talking to any one of his colleagues. Cardassian society was so complicated, sometimes. No wonder he found the young human so restful.

'And he mentioned a name,' Bashir said. 'T'Ket.'

'T'Ket's a Romulan arms dealer. The plot thickens...' Garak was thinking fast, putting a fragmented array of half understood facts and hypotheses into place. 'Interesting,' he added. Then something struck him.

'Why are you telling me this?' he asked.

Bashir looked blank. 'You're my friend.'

'Even here? Even now?' Garak was sceptical.

'Even now.'

The Cardassian was alarmed to discover that he was moved by this.

'I see,' he said, inadequately. 'Well, if you're here to tell me about it, it seems unlikely that they succeed in their assassination attempt. Otherwise I'll never make it to a life hemming frocks on Terok Nor...'

* * *

25.

'It isn't a machine,' Kira said, irritably. 'You can't reprogram it; you need to engage in a rapport.'

Agent Bachshuk drew a deep breath and said:

'All right, then. Rapport with it. Let's see what happens.'

The Major took a deep breath of her own, placed her hands on either side of the Orb of Time, and closed her eyes.

* * *

26.

'If I can just hack into the second level array...' Garak murmured.

Bashir peered over his shoulder.

'What about that circuit there? If you divert that to the tertiary transponder, you'll have an interface relay.'

Garak turned to look up at him.

'How do you know that?'

'It's along the same lines as the station's communications system. Ours is much more modern, of course: nothing like this clunky old thing.'

'Does the phrase 'state of the art' mean anything to you?'

'You're living in the past,' Bashir said cheerfully.

Garak followed his instructions and was rewarded with a glittering display of lights. He sat back on his heels, pleased.

'It appears you were right. Now, if I can just run a quick check on who's sent messages where in the last few days...Ah. Now this is interesting...'

He ran through a number of calculations, then reverted to the original configuration.

'I'd rather you didn't watch me, if you don't mind. This is Tain's private channel codes and he's a little picky about who sees them. He only gave them to me after I sorted out that business on Armigat Three...' - he was interrupted as a sequence of code scrolled across the interface and then Bashir could hear Tain's voice. He sat back as Garak rapidly outlined the situation, and then the communication channel closed.

'Well?'

'Tain's going after T'Ket. Apparently Dukat Senior's been sailing a little close to the wind for some time; the Order's been looking for an excuse. They're sending a squadron to Bajor to bring us back.'

He glanced at Bashir.

'Thank you, by the way. For saving my life.'

'Don't mention it. It isn't the first time; it won't be the last. But you can return the favour, Garak.'

'What do you have in mind?'

'Patching me through to the nearest Federation outpost and turning a blind eye to my escape. You can always say that you were preoccupied with not being assassinated.'

Garak considered. 'What has led you to consider me an ethical man, Dr Bashir?'

'I don't.'

'The thing is, you see, you're still rather valuable to Cardassia, and I don't really think I'm prepared to let you vanish into the Bajoran night...' He was reaching into his breast pocket as he spoke, but it was too late. Bashir had gone. It was so sudden that Garak stood for a moment with his mouth open. There had been no signs of a transporter beam, nothing. The young man was simply no longer there. Slowly, still dazed, Garak replaced the weapon and sat down at the desk. Something cold touched his heart; an unfamiliar sensation which he gradually began to recognise as loss.

'Ah, Julian,' he said aloud. 'See you in a while.'

* * *

27.

'Doctor Bashir,' Agent Bachshuk panted. 'Slow down. We need to arrange a proper debriefing. We need to discuss the potential ramifications of your involvement with Occupation history -'

'Not now!'

'What could be more pressing?' the temporal agent asked, baffled.

'I have to see my tailor!' Bashir snapped, and vanished around a corner.

'Rather vain, surely?' Agent Bachshuk said, to the empty air.

Bashir activated the intercom several times before the Cardassian answered, somewhat blearily.

'Doctor? It's the middle of the night. Is something wrong?'

'You knew!'

'I beg your pardon?'

'You remembered! Me! You! All those years ago.'

'Ah.' The Cardassian leaned heavily against the door frame. 'I thought we'd be having this conversation, sometime this year.'

'Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me why you were exiled? There might have been a way to prevent it; we could have -'

'Julian. Come here.'

He held Bashir easily, his fingers curled around the back of the doctor's neck. Bashir's face was miserable.

'You should have said.'

'Julian, a great deal has happened between the day that you vanished into nowhere, and now. And things that weren't clear to me then have since become very plain. You see, you don't know what the future's going to bring, even if you've been given hints along the line.'

A thought struck Bashir.

'Are you really in exile? Or did you choose to come here? There has to be a reason why you didn't tell me, so that I could warn you. I know about temporal paradoxes, and so on, but even so-'

'Does it matter? You know, don't you, that I'm not going to tell you why I'm really here. Not now. And with regard to our involvement, I couldn't prove anything to you: there were no records. After you left, the garrison was disbanded, there was that terrible scandal involving Dukat's family and no-one remembered the missing Federation captive. Would you have believed me, if I'd told you that we were lovers, back on occupied Bajor? Or would you have thought it was just another lie? I have been, as they say, hoisted by my own petard. But I've missed you. We've caught up with each other at last. It's about time, Julian.' - and reaching out, he drew Bashir closer, and closed the door.


End file.
